


Restless Heart Syndrome

by pickaxetothebrain



Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Songfic, canon-typical poison consumption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26549221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pickaxetothebrain/pseuds/pickaxetothebrain
Summary: Vyvyan hates himself, but he'd never let anyone know that.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Restless Heart Syndrome

_I've got a really bad disease_

_It's got me begging on my hands and knees_

_So take me to the emergency_

_'Cause something seems to be missing_

Vyvyan was curled up in the corner of his room, surrounded by cocktails of chemicals and alcohol. Tears soaked his clogged and swollen pores. The punk's face was contorted into a gross look of desperate sadness. He tried everything to fill the empty feeling inside - not even bleach could take away the intense feeling of loss Vyvyan felt. What would? What would make him feel whole again, what would make him forget, what would make him feel needed again? The bottles of god-knows-what that surrounded him seemed not to be helping - rather, they were just trying to distract the young man by making him dizzyingly sick. Or sickeningly dizzy. Whichever came to him first. 

_Somebody take the pain away_

_It's like an ulcer bleeding in my brain_

_Send me to the pharmacy_

_So I can lose my memory_

Fists pounded against deeply bruised temples. Teeth sank into trembling lips until the taste of blood filled the whimpering mouth. Pain was all Vyvyan thought he was good for, self-inflicting during breakdowns or beating the shit out of anyone who even dared to be seen as a threat by his cold eyes. He was utterly useless. He couldn't fucking shut up, he had no self control, and he was nothing but a waste of space to everyone. Vyvyan was disguised as an overzealous bastard. He liked it like that. Showing emotion would be the end of him.

_I'm elated_

_Medicated_

_Lord knows I've tried to find a way_

_To run away_

No escape fixed him. No amount of friends, no amount of violence, no substance, nor any amount of days on end spent avoiding everyone could fix the fact that Vyvyan felt like indescribable shit every day of his miserable student life. He wouldn't be caught dead talking about it with anyone, ever. Not even Mike. Even if he wanted to feel needed, he'd never ask. It felt wrong to reach out. It felt selfish. 

_I think they found another cure_

_For broken hearts and feeling insecure_

**_You'd be surprised what I endure_ **

**_What makes you feel so self-assured?_ **

No one knew. Nobody knew of Vyvyan's past. No one knew the atrocities committed by that hag of a mother. No one knew about the filth he was raised in. No one knew about the bullying, or the alienation, or never being loved when it was most crucial. Vyvyan was so, so alone. To be under such heavy scrutiny by Rick sent him overboard. The punk would bet that Rick smelled the poverty on him and pounced to criticise his every move. Every flaw was drawn out into an hour-long, self victimising rant by Rick fucking Pratt. It made Vyvyan violently sick.

_I need to find a place to hide_

_You never know what could be waiting outside_

_The accidents that you could find_

_It's like some kind of suicide_

Sometimes Vyvyan didn't leave his room for days. The reason? Dread so intense that leaving bed was a marathon. Anxiety so overwhelming that moving would be his demise. Anguish regarding the fact that he just made a mess and was better off where nobody would see him. It only fueled his internal war. 

_So what ails you_

_Is what impales you_

_I feel like I've been crucified_

_To be satisfied_

All of this pain and suffering, and for bloody what?! For Mum to beat him?! For Rick to chastise him?! For Vyvyan to spend every single day of his life without a single ounce of joy in his soul?! For Vyvyan to just keep fighting his way through life?! To keep panicking?! To keep being a fucking mess?! To keep all of this pain repressed under an apathetic, violent persona?! Was that all there was?!

_I'm a victim_

_Of my symptom_

_I am my own worst enemy_

_You're a victim_

_Of your symptom_

_You are your own worst enemy_

_Know your enemy_

The day that Vyvyan let it all flow out like the cascades of tears he had cried over the years was the day everything stopped. He had enough of bickering, hiding, crying, and getting drunk. That day, Vyvyan's mask shattered when his fists unclenched as he sank to his knees. Rick, colour draining from his face, stared in shock as Vyvyan shrieked out every woe that feasted upon his broken soul. As Rick tried to hold his hand out, Vyvyan swiftly punched at him before running out the door. 

Vyvyan ran, and ran, and ran. He ran, as fast as he could, because running away was the only thing familiar to him.


End file.
